how beautiful is that.

a 711 in sunset.

...

in the fall of 20XX i visited every 711 i've ever been to.

i set off in the early morning.

i started with the farthest, in the side of a motorway, sixty miles from my city.

when i arrived, the world was still blue, and the cashier was still sleeping on the counter. i bought my first bottle of water for the day there.

there was nothing special in here, i thought, other than the fact that it felt like the farthest familiar place i've been to.

.

.

.

i took a taxi back to the city, to it's seaside. as the sun rose i arrived at a grand hotel.

it was a sight to behold. but a horror to stand around in; the stench of the city seaside smelled like all the worst parts of a seafood market back dumpster.

i crossed the avenue to the 711 adjacent from the hotel. there i bought another bottle of water and sat to stare at the sunrise.

.

.

it was better back then, i thought.

the last time i was in that 711 was the afternoon before a js prom.

i bought a bottle of gin and a bottle of grapefruit juice. i mixed those and gave it to my friends.

they needed it; they were scared shitless of their dates. i needed it too; to survive the stench of a stinking sea i really did prefer just removing my sense of smell entirely.

once our confidences were healed back and our ties and collars were sufficiently stinking of alcohol we ventured into the hotel.

i exited the 711 and stood at the bay walk area besides the hotel. the sun is rising in the east right now, but in that prom day then we would've been treated with a sunset.

there is nothing like the sight of a hundred suits and dresses in a hotel courtyard, illuminated by the light of a sunset amplified by a million reflections from ocean waves.

i would say that now, but me back then would have thought differently.

unfortunately for me i was drunk for the duration of that day and night, and the only beauty i was eager about was that of my own date.

but even then it wouldn't have been the same without the sunset.

her in a lilac dress, her hair glowing like fire from the sunlight, her face perfect in shade and shadow and hue.

even a drunk wouldn't forget such a sight.

.

.

i left the seaside once the sun was high.

.

.

the next 711 i went to was in the inner city, right besides a university.

it wasn't far from the hotel, so i walked all the way. i intended to sweat all the water i drank so i wouldn't have to *** behind a 711.

i arrived at noon. i bought another bottle of water, and one of their hotdogs cooked in the steam of sewage.

god, for such an awfully average establishment, one couldn't deny how much impact it has for a lot of people.

for the kind like me, a teenager back then, who wouldn't have been able to hang out in bars and parks and such, the 711 was where we ended up in.

they'd let anyone in, let anyone hang around as long as you bought anything, and the cashiers would just let a kid buy any ***** he wanted, since they weren't paid enough anyways to deny business.

for a kid like me back then, i would always end up in a 711. when the classes ended, or before they started, or even when i chose to ignore going to school altogether and went on random adventures, still, i would end up in a bench inside the 24 hour orange green red.

and for an entire spring in 201X, it was in this 711 i ended up in every afternoon. inside a busy city, besides a university.

and i would get my phone, send a million messages saying "i'm nearby", and then wait for her.

.

.

fancy university girl. glowed bright as a star, brighter than anyone in high school, and was now in her rightful place in the heavens.

heaven being an overpriced sweat shop for smart people.

(of course, no one told her that joining the stars in the heavens would only make you as bright as they are, or as dull as they are. sure, i guess they'd be taught what apparent and absolute magnitude is, but bet you they won't realize how it applied to them.)

i would wait for hours.

sure, i would have spent my time walking around the city and loitering around and discovering thrift shops and alleys and sewers and such, but eventually that wore me down and i would just sit in the quiet of the store awaiting her.

and when her classes ended, she did arrive.

for the first few weeks she would rush to me, sometimes even with an embrace, but often with enthusiasm anyways, and we would spend the time together.

i would buy her something and she would tell me her day in the classrooms and i would tell her my day in the alleys.

it was well for a while. it made the effort of travelling worth it.

but after a while her cheer faded. her stories dampened, replies dull.

i asked her what was wrong.

she would tell me she had problems.

though then days after that she would only tell me she was tired.

days after that she'd say she didn't want to talk about it.

after that, nothing at all.

and then the days would get colder.

she would stop responding to my messages, but i would still be waiting.

and eventually i would see her, across the street. and i know she could see me too.

but then she ripped that glance off her face, and boarded a bus.

.

.

it stung then. of course it would sting.

spring ended into another summer. for me however, it didn't feel like summer. i felt cold under the sun. under layers i would still feel cold. in hot buses it would still be cold. within the bustling unforgiving city, within all it's smoke and steam and heat, still it would be cold.

you would ask why i was still in the city. i still went, to wait. besides the university, in the 711, in the same seat.

it stung, yes, but it's never just the first sting that you go through. it itched. and i had to itch. i couldn't stop bothering it.

not the best behavior, i know, but i didn't bother then. i couldn't care less about what i was doing.

i still waited until her dismissal time. and i would see her, of course, across the street, on her way. i knew she could see me, because she never again glanced towards where i was. she would take the first bus she sees.

this went for a while. about a month. until the last day of semester.

there was an event in the school grounds that day. everyone wore the same shirt. students were coming in and out of the 711, buying amenities, buying soda, chips, *****.

i watched out for her, in case. though with difficulty, since they all wore the same clothes, and all the girls all looked the same from behind with their hair.

but i watched out, for one with a pair of thick framed glasses. i watched out for anyone carrying a brown faux leather sling bag. i watched out for anyone standing at about 5'4.

crowds passed, came and went. dismissal time arrived, yet i still haven't seen her. i decided to wait a bit more.

the crowds became thinner, yet still i haven't spotted her.

i bought a bottle of dark ***, and mixed it with coke, as my late lunch. maybe i thought the alcohol would help with the spotting. maybe i thought it could help with the waiting. maybe i just needed it.

sunset came, and i still didn't spot her.

in desperation (or utter idiocy), i did the one thing you probably shouldn't do when you're (for a lack of a better term) stalking someone: i called her.

no, not even a text message, a call. god was i stupid.

she answered the call.

"hello?" it sounded. behind her voice was music, and cheers.

i hung up. i said nothing. she could still be in the campus. or home. or someone elses.

i was ready to give up then. for a moment i stopped thinking about her, and considered what i was doing.

but i was stumped. honestly, i had no idea what i was doing. all those months all i was doing was winging it. i had no plans.

i drank all the rest of my *** and chased it with the last drops of coke i had.

somehow, i felt too tired to go. i stayed in my seat. i wasn't waiting anymore, but i stayed anyways.

sunset turned to dusk. i sat. i sat and stared at the blue of the world, stared so hard i didn't notice the blue turn to black.

suddenly, i felt sweat. and heat. it could've been the alcohol.

i stood and left the 711. in drunken boredom, i decided to walk around the circumference of the university block.

i distracted myself. the world was pretty; the shining light of traffic, the window lights of high rises, all heightened and saturated by drunken eyes. i took three laps around the school.

after the last lap, i was finally tired enough. i decided to go.

i waited on the pedestrian. right across me was the 711.

there were barely any people around anymore. i looked around.

inside the 711 was the cashier, and two people seated. students of the university. one of them was a tall man with waxed hair. the other was a girl with glasses. there was a brown bag on the table.

she looked at the window. i kept my eyes on her. we held our vision for a moment, until a bus came in between us, stopping at the red light.

i broke my focus and boarded the bus.

.

.

i hate this 711, i have decided.

i ****** on the back alley of it and left for the next one.

.

.

the next few 711's were not much special.

one was on the city edge, besides another gas station. my memories within it aren't interesting. i bought energy drinks here, and that's it.

the next was besides another school building. nothing special here either, just an establishment i bought stuff in. i think i may have visited this 711 while drunk.

this one is besides an interesting road, full of antique shops and japan surpluses. of course, nothing happened in this 711, since i always went for the shops afterwards.

then there's this one, a stray 711, within another inner city, right at the commercial district. where my farmers market resides, where the only pub in town resides.

unsurprisingly, i seldom visit this one, since i always go for the bar first. but this place stood out from the others, because of the cats.

the cats live in the farmers market where they prowl around in the meat section. some of the shop keeps adopt them for pest control. others for some additional display.

who wouldn't like to buy vegetables AND pet a cat at the same time.

this was the 711 i go to after i get inebriated in the pub. after a few beers, i buy an energy drink to assist me as i return home.

and this 711 had it's own shop cat. a brown tabby who hangs out besides the parking lot.

and he would meet me every time i visit the establishment.

yeah, i like this 711, i have decided. i'm welcome in the bars and pubs, but i have never felt more welcomed by a place than this. the cat would always come close and purr when i pet him.

he was a sight for sore eyes, even drunk eyes. one time i gave him a piece of meat i bought from the market.

i looked around the 711 area. he doesn't seem to be here right now.

surely, he's still alive. i've never had a day without him when visiting. but it seems he isn't here.

i decided to wait him out. i bought a pack of cigarettes and sat on the store stairs.

maybe he's in the farmers market. or prancing about in some different store. maybe someone adopted him. that would be nice.

i waited for an hour. i smoked a million cigarettes. the storeowner must be suspecting me for sitting on his stairs and polluting the air.

and when my millionth and one cigarette burned away, i decided to leave.

i seem to be doing a lot of waiting around for someone to come. but i've learned my lesson not to stray and stay too much.

it was fine for me to not see him today. he's a cat, not an ex girlfriend.

the light of the afternoon was blazing on the horizon. i felt nauseous. i decided to leave for the pub.

.

.

i had two beers and peanuts. 711's don't serve peanuts to people who drink in them, you have to buy them yourself.

it was three in the afternoon when i left the pub. i wasn't drunk, but i had enough drinks to stir my body. i went from the pub to the 711 again, to buy a drink before i go to my last stop.

and there he was, sitting besides a parked motorcycle. he got fatter, and he's wearing a worn out collar.

i went close and he did likewise. i petted the big cat. he purred like he was mine. what a nice cat.

.

.

i took a bus to my last stop. the sky was beginning to look beautiful again, as the sun set.

my final stop was the first 711 i've been to. which happened to be close to my house, and close to my schools.

there was nothing special about this 711, other than provenance and memory. it was as big as any other 711, with a parking lot and dining tables.

but being right between several schools, this establishment was always full of patrons of every age and status. university boys who finished playing in their basketball courts. nerds who order bottles of mountain dew and cough syrup. teachers who sit with the misfits every after class. it was the student's spot.

i had many fond memories of this place. my first bottle of gin. my first argument with a classmate. accidentally breaking a lamp with my friends, which ended up with us being barred from the store for two months. good times.

but some unsavory ones too, especially on the last days i went here. first police warning. first breakup. first theft. and some hurtful memories.

i sat on the waiting bench parallel to the 711. i watched as the sun crawls down on it's imprint on the windows.

i have decided i didn't like this place.

.

.


i lit another cigarette as the sun sank beneath the clouds, turning them into a lit mosaic of broken reds. how beautiful is that, a 711 in sunset.

i though of the last time i went here.

that phone call.

.

.

it was an hour before midnight. i received a phone call from a friend telling me to meet her in the 711. i happened to be at the pub when this occurred.

i said "yeah, i'll be there, but in this time of night?"

i boarded the bus and arrived at the 711. she was sitting on the steps. she wore a big baggy sweater. her hair was in disarray, and even in the shadow backlit by the store lights i could see her reddened cheeks and ruined makeup.

i asked her, "are you okay?"

she nodded, but with a deep expression. we sat on the seats outside the shop.

"why'd you call me today?" i asked.

she kept silent. she was eyeing the inside of the 711.

"i just got a bit of extra cash. Want a drink?" i asked her.

"no, i just needed to meet someone today." she said.

i could tell she was not well. "Was it (--------)?"

"i don't have to tell you." she said.

"was it your family?" i asked again.

"no, no" she took a sip of water.

"school, then?"

she said nothing.

"christ, why did you ask me here then?" i retorted. i was inebriated, not polite.

she didn't respond. she took another sip. she sobbed a little bit.

a silence. it went for a minute. she drank all of her water.

.

.

.

"we can't keep meeting without you telling me nothing. I should at least know why we're here in the middle of the night."

"christ, do you have to know everything?" she grabbed her things, stood and went, wiping her face.

i stood to catch her. "(------), no, come here."

she was crying. her sobs were broken. it shook me, hearing someone cry.

"you don't have to tell me, just don't cry."

"you can't tell me that right now."

"okay then, cry. just--" i was lost for words. this has never happened to me before.

"you're an *******. why do you have to be like that right now. why is everyone-" she wailed. she was crying hard.

"please, (------). don't cry. i don't know what to do about this."

"just hold me, please. it's all you have to do."

i hugged her. i felt her sweater more than i felt her body. i was thin and bony; hugging her didn't feel correct. i felt like i was a cage.

"why does it all have to happen all at once? it's too much for me." she said. i was still clueless, but she was crying.

"there there, now." i was saying all the usual words. i didn't know what was the right thing to say. there is very little i could do about sudden crying.

"i can't do it anymore. it's too much."

those words struck me. i had no idea what to say.

i held her for a while, outside the 711. there was no one around to see us. there was only her, crying and sobbing, and me, clueless and helpless.

.

.

that was a year ago, after the school season.

that was the first someone has ever cried to me, in that way.

it was... unusual. i felt like it was too sudden, too unusual. though i know what could've been troubling her, i didn't expect tears. and that line...

i rummaged through my mind of all my memories of her.

sitting around and drinking outside the shop. watching her and her boyfriend dance around, locked in each other's hands, when a good song plays on the radio. sitting on the bench, talking about our lives and troubles, as the sun set.

all shadowed by that memory of her, in the night, crying on my arms. and that line...

"i can't do it anymore..."

i never got to talk to her again. she's ghosted me for quite a while, and never responded to anyone from our circle again.

it ruined me a bit, and my memories of this place.

.

.

and i never got to visit this 711 again. since then, i faced my own downward spiral and went distant from so many.

but i'd still go around adventures and walk around the avenues, within the city and within memory.

i sat in front of the last and first of my 711's as the sun disappeared. after a few smokes i stood and left for home.

.

.

what did i accomplish from this trip? **** all. i just needed an excuse to go around town. though i am reminded of how much little places can mean, even just the liminal corners we visit.

and i was partly reminded of what my adventures meant. what i've gone through from the years through these little stores we visit.

from a prom, to a stint of obsession, to a hard time, to cats.

and i am to visit a lot more 711's in my time. maybe the same ones, or even new ones.

besides, i know i'll be needing to go to 711's often, for drinks and food.

who knows what the years have in store for us, even in the smallest of places?

.

.

i look back at the store as it shrinks away, within the darkness...

have you been eating well? i asked

yes, she said. her face was shining

your sleep?

quite well. i wake up in the morning now, at least.

vaccine?

one shot. and i'll be having a booster shot soon.

great. great.

.

.

we had beer today. she brought over some pastries. for once i was not left hungry.

she was wearing a beige sweater. she wore boots instead of slippers. she wore the same glasses.

you changed your lightbulb, she said.

yeah, orange now. a bit better, innit?

honestly? for me, not really. it makes the place look like a western.

oh. ok.

.

.

why don't we go upstairs? she asked

it's a mess. i had a re-haul of sorts. i'll have no visitors there.

oh, ok.

.

.

there was a silence as i finished my beer. she finished hers as well.

i grabbed a cup of water. i had to take my meds. i opened the last day of my pill box.

you still take a lot of meds?

i have to, i said. the old ones. some vitamins. this horse pill.

really? that one?

heh, yeah. it's not that big of a deal.

she held a chuckle.

this one's for humans. mother got it from a pharmacist, not a vet. not sure if if does anything, but it's pretty much just nothing. i just take it so she'd get off my ***.

she kept her snark. it was nice to hear a laugh.

i took my pills and washed it down. taking so many still left me feeling like i swallowed a stone.

she was staring. her expression was... unco.

what are we going to do now, she asked

i took a breath to clear my chest. i felt stiff.

you know what, why don't we go outside. it's past the hot hours.

sure, why not.

get your mask.

.

.

.

it was the finest week of september. the sky was streaked by yesterday's rainclouds. there would be a pretty sunset today.

it was not a busy sunday.

no one would be walking to church.

there would still be no children playing, nor old people in their garden chairs gossiping with their neighbors.

and there were no cars in this particular afternoon.

it was quiet.

.

.

we walked slowly.

she told me her usual gossip. i responded with the usual humor. the standard back and forth customary within slow walks.

i still felt stiff as we went. she looked relaxed by comparison. she seemed to be in better form than me the whole day.

there's usually no one in the park these days, i said.

well yeah, no one's going outside.

they still do. but a lot more subdued, i think. though these days are a lot better.

yeah.

.

.

we reached the park.

the slides and swings were empty. the covered court right besides it was empty as well. adjacent was a quiet construction site. it had replaced the trees and bushes that this park once had. this place has changed over the years.

we sat in a concrete bench. i ripped my mask off to breath the empty air.

she kept hers on. she wore a cloth mask with an embroidered figure in pink.

wait, are you vaccinated? she asked.

yep. that single dose one made by the people who make shampoo. sure felt like i was injected shampoo too.

ah.

she took her mask off as well. she took a breath. it came out sounding like a sigh.

are you a lot better now? i asked.

yes, i am. believe me. you?

don't ask me yet.

okay. do you still talk to your friends?

not really.

work?

no.

school?

ha, no.

.

.

do you still write?

no. couldn't.

well, that never stopped you before. what was that quote that you always say?

what quote?

the one about everyone being a poet.

ah, right. everyone makes poetry, but only some write it down.

that always was a funny one. i liked hearing that a lot from you drunk.

yeah.

for someone who despises cliché quotes, you always repeat that like everyone didn't hear it.

only when drunk. i say a lot of cliché stuff when drunk.

i liked those times. times with crowds. and beer. and clichés.

i like them too. those times will come again.

yeah.

and we'll be a lot older, with a lot more stories to tell.

yeah. some more drunken poetry from you.

.

.

the minutes towards sunset arrived.

.

.

you never liked my poems. i never saw you as one who would care for those, other than like song lyrics.

i like it. i like it coming from you too.

oh. ok. thanks.

it's nice to hear. i liked it when you describe and stuff.

it's not that creative. it's not even clever.

and that one afternoon...

yeah, that one. that wasn't so long ago.

she faced me. her hair was glowing within the golden light.

she wore blush. i could never tell why women would want to look like that. a blush could mean so much different emotions.

.

.

.

no writing. tell me a poem. describe me.

now?

it's the perfect time.

.

.

the last of the sun peaked over the building roof.

the light reflected from the greater clouds colored the lesser haze in vermillion; blush over the darkening blue.

the green and trees and bare scaffolding in their shadow, embellished by the setting light, as articulate and abstract as an impressionist frame.

the remnant of the afternoon heat drove the wind to chorus, and now it sings a soft encore.

the world loses another warmth, but the chill of this hour will soothe, before another freeze.

and the image of you

within this

the world, fickle and sibylline

but always, with everything, ethereal

with you, divine.

.

.

.

"you're beautiful."

.

.

she smiled. she leans for a kiss.

i take it. it was not as cold as it usually felt.

.

.

.

.

are you a lot better now?

a bit. remind me to give you some ivermectin later.

funny.

we broke distance again. better be safe.

she laughs. her expression became dissolute.

keep your worm pill. come here.

.

.

.

they kiss,
go home,
marry.

the end. is it satisfying to know that?
i walked around my cul de sac the other day and i saw forget me nots growing in the gutter and i went "ha! it's like a relationship!" and threw up my lunch on the side of the road because of too much cigarettes. is it satisfying to hear that?

i went around the city markets looking for cheap vegetables and stumbled on a little korean store with two teenagers with pop star hair in open embrace and thought "it must be the weird ice cream and the weird cabbage and the candy tasting ***** they sell for the price of three bus rides to france" and hit my right foot on a construction fence. was it worth the read?

i went to a thrift shop and stared at some cheap sweaters while listening to housewives complain to disk jocks about their cheating husbands and their crying children and their skin turning grey and thought "wow, i can be paid to write all that nonsense" and bought a sweater with an illustration of a man with an elephant *****. there wasn't even a single rhyme in that stanza!

and all that time i thought
we really only think about love now, do we?
but i know people would rather talk about that
than smokers heaving on the road
or old men with foot pain
or funny little penises
in cheap little sweaters.

"𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒔
𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓
𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒔"

...𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵, "𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘭𝘭"? 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦...

she left work early to venture out on the last day of the month.
she told her manager she had plans with family, but that was nowhere near the truth; she had a dinner plan with someone far from anywhere related to her.

she took her pay and went off.

the afternoon looked grim. the road looked grimmer. the sun looked tired and the world looked tiring. for her it was not a particularly good day to exist.
neither will the night be any different, she presumes. at least she was paid.

𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵. 𝘪 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘬, she thought.

the bus she boarded had rusty railings and handles ready to fall off.
it was still early so there weren't much passengers. there were three, she counted, not including the driver and the conductor. she took her seat in the back so she could watch their heads.

"𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒂 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒆
𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒅𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒊𝒓
𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆... 𝒖𝒉...... uhhhh..."

she lost focus. it started to rain, and she remembered she didn't bring an umbrella. the dilapidated bus windows won't close.

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘺'𝘴 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘵. 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘴𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘻𝘻 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨...?

the guy (or girl?) was wearing something unusual; it looked like it was made from plastic and resembled a waxed salad bowl. she spent her entire bus ride thinking about the peculiar headpiece and being bothered by the splash of the rain.

𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘺𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴?

she took her stop and quickly went into her building. the garbage bags she put outside weren't picked up by the trucks. she stopped and stared for a moment to ponder.

𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘺. 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭.

her apartment was cold and grey as well. she grabbed her watering pail as she entered and went straight to her plants. she feels suffocated. she had half hoped that the plants she bought would make her place look a little brighter and make the air a little fresher.  
instead the pots cramped her place a bit more and attracted ants to live in the soil.

afterwards she set a kettle to boil and went to pass out on her couch. the day was still grim. it seemed its only been grim all these days. she thought of how long it's been since she was in a cheerful mood.

𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘪 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢. 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘦 𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘵. 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘺.

𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰...

she stared at the scene in front of her. the steam from the kettle, the array of unwashed dishes, the shadow of the rain streaming on her kitchen floor.

she sat upright and opened her notebook on the coffee table.

"𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔
𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔...

-𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯? 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦... 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘩 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴...

...𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂 𝒘𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒖𝒍- 𝒖𝒉....

-𝘯𝘰, 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘴𝘺𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴...

...𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂 𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒐...

-𝘩𝘮𝘮𝘮..."

she closed her notebook and threw her pen at the clothes bin. she stood and went to the bathroom, and splashed her face.

𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘪 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘺. 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘩𝘦𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘢 𝘳𝘩𝘺𝘮𝘦𝘥...

she wiped herself with a towel and stared at her face. her eyes were starting to grow bags. her makeup wore off and a zit revealed itself on her chin.

𝘪 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘪'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭...

𝘨𝘰𝘥 𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵.

𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥. 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦.

𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩. 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘩𝘦'𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴.

she took one last look at herself. she passed a comb through her hair once and decided it was enough. she went to fix herself some tea and gave up halfway. she decided to sleep until she has to go.

laying down, she meandered through her thoughts.

𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨? 𝘪 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘪 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪'𝘮 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩. 𝘪 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦.

𝘪 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭, 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘪 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘪'𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦.

𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘺, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨'𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵. 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺. 𝘪 𝘢𝘮 𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥.

she slept for an hour and a half.

...

the alarm was deafened by her pillow. she woke up startled to the blue of dusk. the rain had stopped.

𝘰𝘩, 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘱

she stood quickly and fixed herself up. she had thirty minutes to her appointment, and there was no time to fix anything else. she grabbed her bag and left the apartment.

the trash left outside was torn apart by some street animal. it made a stench while she waited for a taxi.

"Italliani's, please. Near Westwood."

the place was a twenty minute ride from her apartment. the series of avenues around it was her favorite to sightsee from a car. high rise buildings and bright signs from old shops. but all the nighttime scenery wasn't quite ready yet, and all was awash in the blue of dusk.

she hated dusk. for her it was a dim and dull sight that remains of sunset, and nowhere near the shine and glory of the afternoon. she hated night more, and dreaded the idea that she would have to commute after dinner, provided that her date goes awry.

her date was waiting for her on the sidewalk. he had a paper bag on his left.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I was busy at work."

"You were from work? Are those your work clothes?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry. Rain didn't help either. Are we... ready?"

...

god
i hate you
you took something away from me
and I can't do anything about it
i loved you

my heart was torn
you told me it was real

it didn't go away
even when we fought it together
i knew it was going to hurt
i knew i loved you


now read it down to top

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒏 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒐𝒏𝒆
𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒎 𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒏𝒅
𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒕

a girl is sitting on a hill watching the shadow of a thunderhead wash over a near meadow. she can hear its murmur, smell its presence, feel the cold of the wind.

𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒔𝒎𝒐𝒔
𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒏
𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒌𝒚

the grass around her is in fast forward, growing and fruiting and dying and it's children growing anew. the sun and moon race above her, appearing as bands of light in the azure-slate gradient of heaven.

she can see mountains and cities and skyscrapers with their stellar shine rise and fall on the horizon. she can see fire and smoke and fireworks and steam engines flutter in the endless stretch.

𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒅𝒔 𝒇𝒂𝒅𝒆
𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒇𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉
𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒕

but the storm cloud she's watching moves slowly, seemingly detached from the speed of everything else. every strike of it's lightning shredding what it touches to grain and noise.

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈
𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏
𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒂𝒚

the storm cloud grew. it reached the mountains and the cities. it seemed to be approaching the girl's hill. she feels a chill.

she stood. she felt a sprig of fear. she feels like she needs to run away.

𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒐𝒖𝒕, 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍.

𝒑𝒐𝒆𝒎𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒃𝒐𝒍𝒕𝒔

𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒏

she stared at the sky. a flash appears-





ring ring

she awoke to the sound of an alarm. it's lunchtime in her office. she was glad no one caught her sleeping.

the papers she was sleeping on all spilled to the ground. she looked around her surroundings. people in phone calls, people leaving for food, people sleeping as well.

𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮, she thought. 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘢𝘺.

she picked up her papers and stood.

she looked outside her window. there is a storm cloud in the horizon...

some will love you, then disappear
some won't, but you'll love them

and in some way, you'll disappear

but you wouldn't have wasted your time
you'll smile in retrospect, of the times
and so will those you've had

and millions would pass through, not knowing what you've done, but receiving it anyways; what lasts

cities will turn to dust before it goes.
love lasts in the end.

waking up to your lovely ceiling
and that ache has gone away from your shoulders

you have no shoulders, now, though.
you're an insect.

(several shoulders, then)

stuck to the floor
feeding off the normal royalties
of your beloved families.

with nothing to give back,
not even pleasant company,

you stink of alcohol
and fake cigars

of wasted cash
that could've been used
for another

tumble drying machine.

and no pleasant company,
you hiss and you heave

sounds that are prayers
like scraping metal
to flesh and bone

and no cures,
but commas.

commas for the next
scream and shout,
quiet ones
like wind through a drain pipe.

find my sister a husband, please
go ahead and forget me.

a husk will remain
only remain.

the things i think of when i put my nose on your gift

washed dishes
light detergent
like your well pampered skin and well cleaned house

slightly rusted metal
dark *** and light *****
like the way you party and the way you sting

sampaguitas, well cooked rice
roses

like the colors of that sky
when the day ended

i am intoxicated by your scent

and i am intoxicated
by your memory

the sight of the Theeman Hotel strikes within him awe, as high as it's thousand leagues onto the sky

and the emergence of the slime mold in her rotting log, strikes her with ease

they live two seperate lives, in sameness

but with him, he has given to the city

and her, the forest

he lets go of a plume of smoke, resting besides a digiphone booth, before another construction shift

and she meditates under the trees, wondering the same wondering as him

memories, what are memories

he sees no other memories but the crust of the city life bared onto iridium concrete

and she is aware that the trees learn and remember, and only onto death do they reveal their nostalgia

the cities tower alight with the memories of nothingness

while the woods tower with memories forged from nothing

and he sees the growth of the world made by it's starers

and she sees the eyeless grow towards a fire in the sky

what would be the world we would have made if we didnt remember

a dinge heap of a city, or an austere forest

unaware of the memories piled around us

but beauty forged among its thick, for true eyes to see a crowd of makers

he returns to his post redirecting an endless traffic

and she tends to her fruits in a life full of new

they waited nine months for a girl
only to have a rascal

i waited three hours for a cake
only to have charcoal

the apostles waited three days for glory
until they noticed the smell

i waited for you
for ten weeks
six days
twelve hours
and thirteen minutes

only for a no

sometimes, things that take time

are not worth it in the end

i feel like i am torn
if mayonnaise is a good condiment or not

i take a bite of a piece of lettuce with a smear of mayo and i'm like

this is ******* disgusting

and i have it on my rice and salmon and i think

this is the most important part of the meal

and i realize

that mayonnaise is the worst ******* thing in the world

for making me think it is good and bad at the same time

- j. caesar

as i wait in traffic i look out on dusty skies and see glimpses of glory
beautiful glory, like the success of an entire day

and i take deep breaths and ponder
why is it so beautiful, why now

why do you look like memories
why do i want to scream out the name of my beloved and the names of grace
in the middle of the highway

it is more truthful than church
more insightful than universities
more relaxing than people stepping on you
tons more relaxing

but i look back now
as i light a cigarette at 5 pm
and i look above me

streaks of orange cirrus on a blue to ultramarine gradient
a waning moon and a waxing sun
peppered with nimbus

it is not as marvelous as memory

oh, i really do want to scream out your name

you and me together had our moment
where we just stared at the sunset sky

in the old times, days with no nicotine

and i told you
i love you the same way i love this epiphany
golden hour had passed but now this screams out prettier than any gemstone

the allure of heaven enticing mortal men
with nothing but a painting on the somber skies
enticed me same as your face and voice
and a smile worth every stellar

it brings me the smallest of sanity
calm waves on the sea of thought

memories of sunsets
of days worth living

there's rain in antarctica,
rain in the amazon,
rain inside the ******* bus where i'm typing this poem

(stupid ******* holes)

even in deserts, really
it unites us, somehow
everyone knows the pitter patter
the melody of random drops

the rain i faced earlier
was cold
it was refrigerated;
winds from alaska swept vapor from the deep waters
and ended up as depression on the tropic belts

and it was depressing
it was cold
and grey
the leaves of trees, which glow emerald after an hour of rain, turned into mirrors after an entire day under torrents
and the world shared the color of nimbus

except the floods
****, there was floods
the dirt of a dry summer
and the dust of carefree days
dyed the asphalt rivers mocha

and it was c o l d
i had to brave the flow in hiking boots
and my toes feel like ice cubes

…i  exit the bus and enter a 711. i stare.

looking out in the world, i always feel like there is modesty within every droplet

i walked within a crowd huddling under umbrellas and tarpaulin and shop shades

with their heads down and their marches brisk

and i realized

there is no other sound but the rain

i have been to churches noisier than this

everyone was silent
everyone was busy
everyone had rain in their minds
but i bet this silence is within them as well

maybe moore was right; maybe god is in the rain.

perhaps, if other than them praying for the hurricanes to go away, they are also praying within this serenity.

praying about the cold. the randomness. the suddenness of life.

if nothing at least it's music is calmer than any hymn

i stare more. the clouds are low.

******* hell, it's cold

it's always been cold these days. we should've expected the weather to share the same **** condition.

everyone's confused
everyone's sad
everyone knew this was their life now.
though everyone's facing different things, in different sizes

it all washes down on us, cold and hard
in the end, we share the rain

and me
the cold rain won't be stopping anytime soon.
i'll go out and brave the currents again

and in loud silent noise

i'll be praying

i live in a coconut
in some beach among the garbage patch
there are fish bodies here and there
but no fishermen to collect them

i lived in a skyscraper before
and i fed on the clouds
it made me fat with summer rain
and eventually came
tropical depressions

and i had lightning friends
and hail brothers
and cold friends
and hard friends

and i missed the train i built myself
and years i took and told myself
that train would have burst into flames
and **** both the crowd in the left
and the man in the right

oh i told you
there's bad out there
in the sea
or the sky
or the train yards
but dont stop
oh god, dont stop
there's so many questions i have to ask
now in the present
all to explain my past
a past i can never go back to
but never leave

how could it be

i need to know
how



i was trampled down by everyone and this life

and a few offered their hand to pick me up, but they slipped away by the haste they had

and i knew it was my fault for being so slow

but i couldnt help to think

why they were going that fast

mind and heart had a schism

mind stood there thinking how to pour his heart out
writing it like his wedding vows, sounding like a eulogy

and he'd forgotten how to shave, how to comb
how to tie a shoe or how to walk with it

yes, he is thinking of her
at the same time, he is thinking of snake pits
and cliff jumps
and cannibals

pouring out, like bile from a faucet
his life story
how he wished it all satisfied
all the reasons to write another chapter

yet it sounds like a mess written by schizophrenic
fighting for the choice of words
the pen
the paper
one wants to just chew it all off

in his tight shoes, trembling legs
wanting to run
wanting to limp
waiting for a lightning bolt
to shock some sense into him

and he stood there
writing wails
all turning into ramble
turning into a freeze

mind and heart had a schism
and it tired heart

but heart didn't mind
he knows
this often happens

and yes, he is thinking of her
and how nice she was

after a moment, mind spoke his cacophony
and he thought it sounded fine

and she hid inside her apartment from the sound
within her pillows and comforter

then mind dropped to the floor
on a pool of grey matter

yeah, heart said
this happens
often

god hope it didn't, he thought
but at least it gives me pointers

and so heart put mind in an ambulance stretcher
doped and dried until he needs him again

heart bought some chocolates, some coffee, slathered himself with antiperspirant

and he knocked at her bedroom door

she opened the door to a tired heart, who fed a garbage brain

and heart embraced her with all his fervor

you swear to me
and curse at me
when time came and went and i fed your lands

and time came and you hit me with your burning pitchforks
how dare

well then, it serves you right
to reap what you sow
you planted your soot seeds on my clouds
and your harvest is fire

and burnt soil
and flooded homes
why would you complain about my absence
on the forests you ruined

it serves you right
i am the rain, and with me is my temper
it singes when i'm gone
it ruins when i arrive

and don't you complain
it serves you right
i am the rain
i do not take kind to those
who demand the sun

would you love him
if he was a doctor

you two found each other
in a university
cutting cadavers and smoking formaldehyde
and you two learned about your own bodies
slicing off each other's love

it could end up
in a suburban hell
or a morgue

would you love him
if he was a lawyer

oh, he's so smart
he could argue with the teachers
and when you two argued
it was like cleopatra and mark something
kissing on the pyramids

it could end up
in divorce
after you two argue about the price of milk

would you love him
if he was a writer

he could sway you like yeats
and sleep you to bed like morrissey
talk to the neighbors like chomsky
out drink you like any drunken rambler

it could go well
or it could end up like neruda

i don't care
who you love

if you loved me
i could ruin it too

just know
we're all so very stupid
and oh so very human

even if we're so great

wonderful, it was, to be young
to hold the sun on the palm of your hand
and the blue of the sky
out of your eyes

they say we live to rot and age regardless
seems, though, that the world ages without us
instead of us growing entropied

still
sleep on the bus like a tired old ant
wake to find your headset bud under your seat
become a child again, as the sun shines from headlights
and the blue of the coming night and the fleeting forever of a day well spent flies into your ears and skin

and you'd think instead
wonderful, it is, to age
to know how much you now can remember
and re-remember
remember your universe's wonderful bus rides
and park walks
and well spent pennies for ***** ice cream
to see your universe smile back

wonderful, it really is
knowing you held the world
and you were too

i always wondered
why we repeat things
thrice

not more than, nor less

when you have to haste
go, go, go

when it's all wrong
no, no, no

when you want to be dramatic
why, why, why

and i think of all the things that echo once it's been said

you didn't have to say it thrice to pass your point
yes, i get it.

it had to echo in my chambered head
never, never, never

rage has visited
this empty husk
he brought with him
the drums
which pounded for every war
every fight
every bored bystander
every pale *******
every dark survivor
everyone who's lost their hearts
in that way or the other
rage has come
for me

the air angered him
the water tasted like vinegar
a whisper from the wind
deafening
every bark or whistle
a scream

i am not well
i told rage

i know
that's why i grace you

let it flow from your wrists
your scalp
your nails

slam your fists into the concrete
dig until you find
a peaceful coffin
you can stuff yourself into

move your arms
every time i pound
move like a soldier
parading
marching
to flaunt to the world
that peace is lost

allow me to fall
rage
let it wash over me
allow me to break
to bend
to chip

let it be

i understand

I DON'T UNDERSTAND

what is with you, you've been here before
you've been well and you've been unwell, but you got yourself out

no, you got yourself out. i'm still me

you're still you. we're still him

it doesn't make sense. he's changed. now he's us

it is. its not like we had a choice.

i know we did. i know i should have resisted going in him

i know you didn't. i know, because i am here. remember who you are, what he is.

i am tiredness.

and i am the devil. what now

we did nothing wrong, right?

i... don't know. i don't know what he's doing. whether its us, or him, or you, or him

okay, what is it now

...

...

he stepped on a ****

ach, is that really it

yes, and now we're here. tiredness, and the mad innate sense to ruin everything. there is blood rushing into his legs

we don't have to do this

i don't want to do this

what are we to do

what have we done before

what have we not

we havent tried stopping lately.

it doesn't seem so bitter when i look at it, the sky
after it was so angry that it blotted out the sun for an eternal three hour six o clock
it wasn't really that bitter when your droplets landed on my head
it wasn't bitter when the cold of the wind blew my umbrella away

i look at you know and think
you've been through so much
just to be angry where i'm at
you didn't have to take it out on us
i know you just had to
i know it's alright
i know it'll happen again

but i look at the trail of cirrus above your wake
and i see they are tinted pink and orange
i see that they are yours
they are your soft fingers on my blue
and my calm after everything

you are telling me
it is okay
to feel this cold
to let go of the weight of our nature
it is past day
and you left us with your spirit in the sky
making the sun beautiful

and you are showing me
that i could still love you
that perhaps
what happens after
could still put us to ease.

but what you can also do
is write two or three verses
for them to click
expecting more...

to whom that left me in the rain
i'll see you again, dry

to them who shared a drink with me
in the coffee houses with ***** fridges
i'll see you, thirsty

to the moon that turns red, and the stars that hide
i hope to see you brighten that splendid canvas

the butterflies often tell me
you have to worry this time
but to the ones that say
your day will ****
oh, i'll see you in a nice noon

and to the books that tell me
don't worry, you'll be sharing the sun with someone
sometime again

oh man, i'll see you

and to the changing roads, the moving bridges
aging guitars, young beer
you'll be annoyed by me, soon

i'm in love with you, stranger
would you like to join me
there is only so much space, so much time
i haven't met you yet, but i like your shoes
i like your umbrella
i like how you wear your tired smiles
i'll see you, hopefully

and to you's, all of you's
the one who shared some drinks
and stared at butterflies
in cold mountains
stared at sunsets
and velvet undergrounds

you'll know where to find me
oh, all of you will see
that i see you

i might not be that smart
thought my fourteen year old self

that thought persisted till i was old
and i was clueless as to why until now

i am not smart
because i have to think

exceptional people are like calculators
they're engines of critical thinking

the rest of us
have to clean our plates
when they can eat the china

and me
i had to stop and think when the protagonists of this world spoke out

when a musical note suddenly turns dissonant
i had to think if it was jazz or stupidity

when a joke is too funny
i had to think if it was mockery or modesty

when a girl makes a face
i had to imagine her entire world

and all the time i think
jeez, prodigies, leave some space for us

you're amazing, we get it
we're not

and we're too slow to care, anyways

don't look at me either, i'm an unimpressive
i write poetry on soft tissue paper

you write yours on diplomas
fine

doesn't matter anyways
you may be smart, but all of us combined is as dumb as a bag of people

and you read poems too
that brings you to my level

read me a quote
and be as stupid as the rest of us

life will wipe its *** with our intelligence
at least i wrote mine on two ply

you? you're gorgeous

no, do me better, poet. come on, don't be shy

she stood up from the bed and sat on a monoblock chair. she's as bare as a newborn

you're naked.

yes. yes i am.

she sips her cold coffee. or at least i hope it was cold; i refuse to believe we finished that quickly

tell me more.

her voice sounds...

why do you sound like an english teacher? i swear all of my old teachers sound like that

please. if i tie my hair and wear my glasses and act like a librarian would it make you go for round two?

she fixes her hair.

no, you act like a... well...

what is it?

let's just say... mary magdalene

she laughs.

mary wasn't a *****. she was wealthy

i didn't mean to call you that

no, no, it's fine. i DID wear the sluttiest of my underwear

jeez, lady.

come on. describe me

be as weird as you can

okay? uhhhhh

didn't i call your ***** pieces of bread

yes, you did. very offensive by the way. you could have called them loaves

uhhh...

i ponder. i can be as shakespearean as i could

well... your uhhh, your hair is like... uhhh... wet silk on an alabaster statue...

she laughs again.

come on, i've read your poems. your crudeness is unique

really now. i haven't heard that one before

i stood up. there are ants on our plates. i lean on the bed post of the double decker

no, there's nothing special about your hair. it looks like ****

says you, she said. your hair is messy

and so are yours, lady. it looks like squid ink noodles on a mannequin

how about my eyes

it's brown. nicely brown, actually. like polished mahogany

and my neck?

chiseled, and thin. those ridges are like marble

my chest?

wide, but thin. and those loaves of yours were tasty

she smiled. a promiscuous smile

it's the roof of a japanese castle, freckled with autumn leaves

my belly?

smooth. a calm river under moonlight

her eyes joined her licentious smile.

my.... hips?

just the right amount. i wouldn't call it child-bearing, though

i come close. she stands up and approaches

my arms?

she drapes over my shoulders

the right amount, too. like some smooth waxen candlesticks

she presses closer. she smells cold

my... legs?

too short. it couldn't even hoist you up to kissing level

she goes for one. my lips arrive to hers.

i told you i would only do one kiss.

that makes you a liar, then. or a failure.

i am fine with failing once.

i grab her head and press her tight to mine.

it starts to rain again.

.

.

.

when are you going to leave

when it stops raining

i have an umbrella you can borrow

no, it's fine. i don't like it when it's cold

liar. you weren't trembling earlier

you were, though.

yeah

i was

.

.

.

it is raining within the city expanse

and my friend is in the back seat of the pedicab
and i am huddled besides the driver seat, my knee recieving raindrops
and it is flying between an alley
and a highway

and when we stopped on the red light
it rested on a street sign

its wings were yellowed
not the yellow bestowed by loving creation
the yellow of light and flowers that serve

but the yellow i know
of homeless men's hopeless teeth
and street side gravy noodles

of rusted flying pigeon bikes
and industrial waste flowing from millionaire castles

of sunsets in this city
this veiled in a day's smog
or its century's smog

you are not hopeless gravy, however
you are a butterfly

how my legs dared to jump off the vehicle
how my arms wanted to reach up
how my hands wanted to clasp you gently within a chamber
of my spindly fingers

how i could only stare and wonder
within this pedicab
within the center lane

could i clean you off this city's mess
could i perhaps, knowing you were not born stained
but born pure
but born loved, lovingly, by creation
how i accuse the world and it's homeless millionaires
of tampering with purity

i knew i wanted, and it made it seem i could
to stop the world
and clasp you gently
to get you to the nearest wellness

and i hope i did
for it was only what i could
hope that the rain would be gentle on you
dear butterfly

this rain calms me
i hope it would be enough for you
it is not for me
i am stained, but my wings are not
as pure as yours

if my friend the rain is not enough
know, i will jump off this pedicab still
to help you
fly

away from this city

"and in the beginning was the word, and the word was banana"

i remember you, little leaf green
box of wonders that broke down
every few minutes
still, i made memories with you

so many memories, with little tricks
pirate tricks and magic
wade through with all the weird fishes and let downs

i wonder if god made the universe with a broken computer,
bottles of *** and gin and deodorant
did he bring it to school and to dates and to repairmen
who told him that better universes were being made
with better, expensive boxes

and i wonder
if he told them
to *******

and proceed to decorate the cosmos
with all the good times
through a bad time

it's never the tool, but what comes out of it
always what counts in the end

"or a tardigrade from purgatory,

or a dove from heaven"


she sat right across the table with a cup of tea on hand

i had a latte. later we would have beer, later we would ****

will we get married

will she cheat on me with some waxen six foot ****

will it lead me to happiness, and despair

all that i've learned about love runs around my thoughts

by the meadow of infatuation is a tree where we hang ourselves
when we don't get what we want

paul mccartney did not sing to shakespeare when he wrote his love letters to anne someone

condoms still cost a dollar per pack even if a pregnant woman presents her measly coupons

and it's only wonderful in stories

only wonderful in imagination

only wonderful

after she has gone

gone away to where she belongs

angels belong in heaven, where they sing the songs of grace

men belong in purgatory, where they wait for heaven

love belongs in hell, frozen to the ***, where it cannot doom anyone

what am i even doing with you

am i supposed to love you

am i supposed to love

tea belongs in shrines, not dates

coffee belongs in breakfast, not dates

beer belongs to parties, you get the point

i am doomed, i'm to love someone

and then it would be fine, we would be ok

and i would freeze, knowing the lessons of love, but unable to let the world decide for you

if it would ruin it

if it would go well

if it lets me decide instead

boy, am i doomed

am i dumb

am i freezing

one shouldn't be aware of love, they'd be stuck

in its writhing, biting wrath

or it's stagnant, unbearable ennui

or it's cold, unforgiving inevitable

how did those bleeding heart supermarket poets find time to **** models and secretaries and cocktail drinkers and get married and ruin their marriages with more cocktail drinkers and marriages

when the idea of love freezes me in place

trying to fathom it

ugh

my date is so bored

and i just want to run

run away

but i am afraid bukowski was right

and you don't run from dogs

all of them have mouths
that sing melodies
have ears
that dull the wind
eyes
that see masterpieces
hands
that make more

all of them are poets
with scarred chests
builders
with glorious ruins
sculptors
with their own david
novelists
with their own odyssey

and to think our lives are special
seven billion works of art
blind
to the canvas of their neighbor
exhibited
to a subjective universe

i wish i truly loved you

i wish that i wasn't broken
wasn't desperate
for an anything
as everything

i wish i didn't have
a bleeding heart
that wanted so badly
something to patch
all the wounds

i wish i knew
what was real
so that i wouldn't be so rash
at poking everything
remotely anything

i wish it was you
or her
or him
or a glass of water
or a photograph

or a music piece
or a sunset

(i wish i didn't think that either)

i wish
that enough
was real
for me

i wish
that real
was real
for me

and i wish
i truly loved you
truly

asked for so long
what is the root of sorrow

and it made so we could not answer peacefully
what is the root of joy

most will think
and some would say
in their hidden minds
there is no happiness without knowing what sorrow has done

for even a child, born off the miracle beyond our mentalities
will cry entering this world
and into their mother's arms

and it is the most sorrowful to us
when they don't

some would add
sorrow is the pit that forms
when joy floats away

still, i asked my gaping wound that makes a smile
what it thinks

the sun was not unhappy when it warmed the stardust around it
and the sky is not ecstatic
when it rains on the fields

i wonder if the time will come
when sorrow does not have to precede joy
when euphoria doesn't have to be
the cure for agony

i wished to let it be for people
when i let myself smile
drug induced and core rotting
take the happiness from me
don't think that i must have suffered
to want to stoke this constant warmth
think instead, does joy need a root

and i wished for them to pay no mind, and think otherwise
when the pit of sorrow is filled with the maggots that fed on my peace

i wish for them to stop asking
is the happiness all over

the pen dries on its tip
as a poem is not written

a sheet of paper flies away
as a sketch is not drawn

bronze strings tarnish
as a guitar is left untuned

things go to waste
when nothing happens

and nothing happens
when things waste away

i look at you longingly
you look at me same
the right seconds till we look away with a smile
such a happiness, of a longing made life
lasting a drop of rain from the treetop

i heard the manic high lasts only a few weeks
with an uncomfortable normality afterwards you can feel fading by the hour
till you fall into a darkness again
tell me, is it also true
that it didn't matter
is it true
you saw me as bright as day
saw me shine like the new year sun
you were horrified when it all turned black

i should have known
you should have known
my happiness is a firework
it ends with a shockwave
it's followed by a cold silence
you wait for the next one, unless you're sick of the noise

i think of all the times i longingly stared at your eyes
now, i am reminded of all the times i dared not to look at a nose
it was my past, it was our shame, it still happens now
worse, i am surrounded by indignation
stares towards me knowing they smell sulfur and ash
stares away when my eyes meet theirs

or maybe still, i have been and still is
the sun you have so lovingly described
the light you have gracefully loved
the horror you have dangerously stared at
i have shown you my warmth and moved the air to soothe you
but you looked at me too much and i have blinded you
till you curse the light for bringing darkness

i've looked at you, longingly the same
i can marvel at your grace and life in a manic high or psychotic hell
but you might never see my eyes again

whether because you may never do so anymore
or never try
or because i will not let you
or till i can no longer

the sea went quiet, and so did the wind

the hunters found all the wolves howling at a street light, and all the birds walking down on an expressway

and they found all the lilies lost their smell, and the rot of the woods took over

and the warmth of winter fires turned into the fear of cold summers

while the graves turned into a humid frenzy from all the happy worms

there became one less shining light in the night, but no one expected the darkness of the mornings after

there became more lights lit in the cities, but blinding to the point of chaos

everyone thought they can light their ways on their own; the moon wasn't as bright as they were, they supposed

but now the world falls into a void for the rest of half their lives

we did not think of the moon when it was in the heavens, that it would warm the night

but we now know that it made the sun harsher, and sundown terrifying

and the sea went into a slumber, away from the lips of the shores

and the wind blew alongside the ennui of a moonless life

in a fog
from all the steam

from all of my fellow friend's tired minds
they see me watch
as mine floats from my hair
and i point and say
"clouds"

it was the fire of love
that left us both
with scars

and hers is healed
but cold, when the wind comes

and mine
itches and bleeds
and feels like the damp of rain
on bad winters

it is true
it didn't matter that the fire was brighter than the sun

and it is true
that i must not look for warmth
to ease my scars
it matters more
that the scars are left alone

but i am coal
crude oil
dumpster fire
filled with smoke and ****
and it seems i am to burn
until everything is gone

burn
until i am done
and i hope
my scars burn with me

she barged through the door, scaring my cat. i can hear her downstairs surging through my uncleaned mess. i forgot to clean the litter.

hey! she screamed out quietly. it sent my ears ringing.

oh hey there, i said. don't shout. i'm unarmed.

you weren't in school today. and yesterday. the whole week, in fact.

and the week before that, i reminded her.

idiot, what have you been doing

wait how did you get here i had the door locked

oh ******* come on what have you been doing?

hill climb racing. i'm almost near getting the hovercraft.

and

binging a dog and a teenager having adventures

and?

marinating

okay, get up. god, you look like a sad hairy cheeto.

and you look like a pretty girl in a catholic school uniform

shut up, she said. she smells of vanilla and burnt cooking oil

she got me out of my floor and into a cushion. twelve year old me would've been excited.

you don't just chat to me like that and expect me to take it well, you ***. especially not during friday ******* mass

sorry. i got carried away. my folks aren't here

i could tell. have you eaten

(ugh. her voice softened)

uh, no, i haven't. i had coffee. there's uhhh, there's m&m's in my bag besides the alcohol flask if you want some

okay, no, we're getting you food. god you smell like the boy's bathroom

i didn't care. i couldn't smell anything before that until she came around.

my head was ringing. coffee without breakfast is like running without shoes.

i stood up and stretched. i couldn't find my glasses; i had to wear my old ones with a cracked left lens.

she looked pretty with her untied hair and her boring grizzly sweater. there was a blotch on her sleeve.

look, my wallet is in the table below and my folks gave me enough shekels to buy greece

there's a store in the next street that sells waffles. get a tub of ice cream too and get whatever you want or something.

and you expect me to mother you?

ugh just buy the thing and take a hundred for yourself, please.

she looked ******. and tired. i recognized a glint in her eyes.

fine. take a bath.

i will.

oh and also

what?

buy beer.

ugh.

.

.

.

the rain's here.

.

.

she came back with goods. i was drying my hair.

that was quick, i said

yeah, i know, and you took a bath during that time. did you even touch soap?

come on, open up the waffles.

she handed me the shopping bag. i took her arm

hey!

sorry, i said. but it's bleeding again.

no, it's the rain.

don't even, catholic girl. it's red.

she shied away

.

.

eat the **** ice cream, she said.

.

i went downstairs. i returned with plates, utensils, a bottle opener, and gauze

come on now, i said. let's do this all over again.

she sat besides me on my bed and showed her arm. several careless wounds and bare red marks.

there's alcohol in my bag, she said.

ha, me too

she doesn't look amused.

i applied a few sprays. she winces slightly. the glint in her eyes intensify.

how recent was this?

wednesday.

and how about your other arm

she rolls her sleeve. it was uglier before.

they still think it was the dog, the teachers. at least it's not long and straight and obvious

and the other guys?

you really think they'd talk to me about this?

ha, no. of course they wouldn't.

and neither would the other girls, except they would be talking about this to each other.

i wrap her wounds with the gauze. the glint turns into a tear.

you shouldn't have been absent. the teachers are mad about it

i don't care. it's not like you and that lot liked my company anyways

yeah, you're right. you're insufferable.

i cough out a laugh. she has a sad smile.

i fix her wrap in a tight knot.

the rain stops

can we have some food now please? she blurts out. i can hear her choking her emotions

okay. just relax now. i'm sorry i messaged you like that earlier.

you better be, you ****.

and i'm sorry i made you run under the rain.

and i'm sorry i only got a single spoon.

ugh, she goes. typical.

and i'm sorry i had to see this, again.

no, i'm sorry. this isn't about me

it's not about me, either.

it's all **** out there. but i'm not letting you go home with another shard of glass, now.

okay, she said. should've bought cans, then.

heh.

.

.

.

i don't know how to finish this prose.

it's been a while since i talked to her.

though she was never online on anywhere since then.

i should have given her some scar cream.

.

.

.

.

if only i wasn't human.

i see the shadow of myself even in the dark of the night
and i think of the cold on my back and the pain of a handful of pills

and i think
if only i wasn't human, but myself
i would be better suited for those around

and if only i wasn't human
prone to god's graceful gift
of mistake, despair, ego, instinct, fallacy
mistake, biology

we're built to last lifetimes of all those
all the pain of lifetimes

and when comfort arrives:
the gifts.
we spend the hours instead in remorse

and as i lay another dead kitten in a shoebox for the garbage disposal
i think

and as i apologize none stop to those who i love
i think

and as i take another pill
and extinguish another cigarette
i think

if only i wasn't.

girl number 1
did the mistake of manifesting
all the love that she can imagine
and look where you are now
looking for it like a ******
treating treasure like a quick fix

girl number 2
was so pretty that she'd charm zeus himself
well, that's not really special
zeus came
and ruined it for everyone

now you're a cow

boy number 1
was so careless
he let locusts into his house
and his dear wife ran screaming
into another house
full of frogs

boy number 2
spent all his money
buying everything that could make him
into a top class superstar
now he's broke
and a buddhist
and somehow famous

boy number 3
had cursed hair that would **** him
if it was cut
he married a coiffeur in aquitaine
and shaved his beard after the divorce

cat number 1
pushed a beer bottle off the windowsill
GET OFF THE ******* SHELF, TACO
ok, he's licking my foot

poet number 1
drank gin after his cat
spilled his beer all over the basil plants
you can tell by how much
more stupid he progresses the thing
look, it was supposed to be a love poem from the start!

have you tried the bread? it's good
it tastes like olive oil and effort

have you tried the oysters? it's great
i tried it with the wine and it was musical

have you tried the waitress? wonderful
she wore tight jeans and had buns like it was made in a bakery

have you tried commitment? it's not bad
it was better in the first months
then it got hard
oh, so hard

have you tried regret? it's essential
for when you've tried everything
and when you avoid trying

have you tried antipsychotics? it's a nuisance
it sticks to your throat like molasses
and drives you insane

have you tried being in a crowd?
you'll fit like lego
and stand out at the same time

have you tried being alone?
it'll fit you like medicine
and you'll see ghosts

have you tried crying?
it'll make people care for you
or make people force their hands

often, they don't want to make you happy
if they don't know how to
they just want you to stop

...

have you tried the salad?

"it took me five years to grow this tree," i told her

"you didn't grow it really," she said. "it would have grown by itself. it's a tree"

"but back then, it was a sapling, growing on a brick."

"and it still would have grown, you know," she insisted

and i gestured to the surrounding mess, the apartment buildings, the stone and concrete cul de sac.

"nothing grew here, maybe the buildings got taller, maybe telephone antennas, maybe weeds, but nothing."

"yeah, and?"

"when i saw the first few spindly stems, i thought nothing of it. when i saw the first few leaves, i knew it was curious."

"i dug the rest of the plot, removed the bricks, removed the cover on our gate. and i thought it was the most i could do."

"its the most anyone needs to do, you know" she said. "then it just grows. you wouldn't even need to water it."

"even still." i showed her the dust on the leaves. "the air here would clog the leaves from all the smoke. i showered it with water when i saw most of the leaves shrivel. i still do so."

"that would cost you, though. it's not a big tree, and you know it could die anytime, from the soil, the stones, the smoke."

"it didn't, didn't it?" i smiled, led her under the shade. "it grew, and i was glad. and right now i am glad it is still growing."

"well, okay. i still don't get it."

"you said earlier that it would grow anyways. i knew, but i still made it a plot to grow in.

and you said after that it could die. it didn't, and i'd like to think i helped it live.

and we saw that this place is hard and barren. i knew it is. but i knew it means something that suddenly one day, a little sapling decided to look for light, and air, here of all places.

i gave it the little help it needed to take root, and it made me happy it did. and i water its leaves every so often, because now it lives in the same air i live in.

not really that it makes me happy to see it without dust, but i felt it shared with me the struggle of not being able to breathe.

and really, i like to think that it shows me appreciation, for growing"

she looked a little less perplexed, but it still showed. "okay, but it's just a tree. it seems a lot for you to care for it for years, while it just sits there."

"at least it won't go anywhere.

and besides, it became a part of my life, just being there.

i put lights on its branches, that kids like to frolic upon and sit under.

i see birds flock above it, and i like to think they are grateful that it won't go anywhere. that it is there finally.

and i now see flowers grow, a stark contrast to all my life's grey. i see fruit that says to me, i can go on and grow some more, and i could grow here and there.

i see leaves that fall, and the small broken branches. the little sorrows of its life. i see the tree grow newer branches, that told me of its persistence to keep on."

"it's still a tree. there are trees everywhere"

"i am glad there are.

but i am glad for my tree. it grew on the hardest of places, and now there are flowers, birds, butterflies, and shade.

lucky for some trees to grow in better places, with no one needing to tend to it. lucky that there are forests, and soil, and orchards.

but i feel that me and my tree belong, and that what i do for it, and what little it did for me, is better than any forest."

january 1

rice, leftover ham, leftover cake, a glass of coke, ice cream, leftover beef pastrami.


february 12

rice, sautéed vegetables, coffee, leche flan



april 16

rice, bacon, fried fish coated with honey garlic, coffee

april 21

rice, fried fish, coffee



may 1

a bowl of rice, karaage, tempura, prawn sushi, ice tea

may 2

rice, karaage, coffee

may 4

cup noodles



july 6

porridge, kopiko

july 7

chicharron, chocolate milk

july 8

water



august 1

rice, fried chicken, salad, sprite





september 14

rice, leftover fish

september 15

watermelon

september 16

watermelon

september 17

rice, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, ice cream

september 18

watermelon, water




october 1

water

october 4

coffee

october 18

iced coffee, kopiko, chewing gum



november 3

rice

november 8

rice

november 30

a bar of twix



december 1

water, and a cigarette

december 4

iced tea, and a red

december 7

three reds. kopiko


december 8

a buffet. shabu shabu. soft serve ice cream

december 9

coffee, mountain dew, yogurt, leftover chips

december 12

chocolate.

my stratocaster speaks in curses
it says **** and **** loudly
through a cheap tweed amplifier

and sometimes it whispers to me
play me nicely, till your neighbors know
you've got the blues stevie had

and i tell him, sure
let's tell them
you better leave me alone
alone in my noise

if i wasn't a poet
i would be working a job
hauling coal in a train

and i would be in a cabin with no windows
thinking about the destination's mini mart coffee machine

and yet, i just know
he would still be staring at the passing landscape
in the chances he gets to be in the first class car

he would have an ordinary life
but i know he could describe the sand, the sky, the mountains,
the taste of the keurig coffee on a styrofoam cup
better than i could
better than the ones who know all the words
guess, it's not the poet that matters

read me slowly
because we haven't got the time
to rush things

i get a mild high
from looking at you
and i pull my lips closer to

the taste of your cherry dr pepper ***** robitussin
makes me
makes me
makes me

HOW ARE YOU
SO
BEAUTIFUL

HOW DO YOU
COMPLETE MY STORY

OH HELLO MY LOVING
FOREIGN
ARTERY
HOW ARE YOU

HOW ARE

how is it
that you make me so happy

how is it
that you conjure from me
hendrixian poetry

how is it
with every drop of you
makes waves
in my brain sea

you slur my words

and make me ramble

some broken quotes
that mean galaxies

some broken

some

um

and you make me ramble

oh you

oh you

and every time

and everything

you just make sense

and you just make sense of things

and things make
a lot of sense
even if it's often senseless

oh you

how could you when i'm all alone you're far away and when i'm one and lost you're hard to reach and when it does arrive it hurts to move but it makes me so glad to have you anyways for with every turn it puts me in a

trance to write another word without a past like particles from the edge of the event horizon evaporating the toilet bowl with its shining twin and

it makes me stare behind this tunnel hoping that the light i'm walking away from is another train to push me forward to the finish line the past will make me better and better in moving forward or it will crush me under it happiness to move along and

forget everything it passes through the trains brings nothing with it but it's passengers looking down away from the window away from the sights they will never see again but me

me i'll let the train hit me and as i sit on its fender bloodied and broken but healing i'll take my time to stare at the world because now you are here and now i'm aboard the train and i have you to help me jump off to where i need to be you are what i needed

what i needed

what i needed

you for me

you for

okay


it hurts my mind to keep you running things

i cant even make sense

i don't know if i'll understand what you and me will sculpt

eventually everyone who reaches the mountains come down to breath the heavy air they need

but you are astonishing

you are energizing

you are tiring

and i'll tame you

eventually, your high will make me float

i'll tame you

i'll tame you for

you for

you are

she let that anger go
in a scream that shook the ground, the trees, that scared evey dog to bark, and the neighbours asked how dare

and i told them
you let the dogs bark at strangers
your husband bark at your kids
but not this soul scream at the gods

"it woke us up, in the middle of the night"

as it should
and so should you
wake the **** up
come out and shout properly, you stupid shitholes
shout like your husband just ruined you
like a car just killed your friend
shout as if you live in a world where your tools can rip your leg
a world where your chosen leaders steal while you smile
a world where you have the gall

the ******* gall

to call peace an illusion because you do not feel it during chaos

you ungrateful ******* curse happiness for being brief, when you could not bring yourself to admit that you could not persist in fighting agony

my friend has fought, and she has fought
and her scream is of pain, and ecstasy

your measly shouts
your earfucking arguments
are a desperate and out of tune cry for control
control of your children
of your work
of your house
of your country
of your pathetic idea of love
your pathetic idea of responsibility
your pathetic idea of justice

my friend has screamed
and in doing, she has gripped the fates by the *****
she has gutted the devil
my friend is happy
my friend is strong
my friend has fought
my friend has control

of her own
her life
and the ******* universe

so what, huh?
how dare you shout so weakly when we have screamed so sincerely

come out and tell the ******* gods what it is

the world is ****
the world is ******
the world is well
the world is ruined
we are ruined
we are ******
we are confused
we are strong

so come out
scream
you *****
scream!